The Rain
by randomgenius
Summary: The only place Luna Lovegood was ever herself was in the rain.


Luna Lovegood had always so loved the rain.

Even as a child, she had been ensnared by it. She and her mother would dance out in the rain, laughing and splashing through the small hills and meadows surrounding their odd little house. They would stumble in, muddy and cold and happy, then her mother would dry her off and get her some hot cocoa, laughing all the while.

Luna remembered how her mother's eyes had always sparkled with happiness, how her laughter came so easily and was so infectious, how gentle her hands had been while braiding Luna's still-wet hair. Luna's mother had _sparkled _with life. She remembered how she would always tell Luna she loved her every morning, every day, every night, _always_.

The rain was one of her few connections to her mother, now; it made her treasure it all the more.

Whenever it rained, she would make a point go out and sit in it, play in it, dance in it. To Luna, rain was _solace, _rain was _protection_, rain was _catharsis_. The rain was the only place where she was _Luna_, just Luna, only _ever_ Luna. She was someone she'd had to let go of a while ago.

Someone she hadn't seen since she'd lost her mother.

The years alone had hardened Luna in an odd way (because when could anything ever be _normal_ with Loony Lovegood). Instead of retreating inside herself, she'd just... left. She had flown up above it all, above the cruelties and slights. Nothing hurt her, because it couldn't touch her.

She supposed this meant they weren't entirely false when they said she wasn't all there. However, it was definitely better than being _too_ much there, like that poor Granger girl.

Luna had wondered, sometimes, if anyone besides had ever bothered to look beyond themselves, into a world unnoticed (as opposed to the unseen, which had unfortunate connotations to Professor Trelawney). She hated how magic, which so wonderful, was also so blinding to it's practitioners. They thought that, because they lived in the realm of fantasy, they couldn't believe in the fantastic. They thought she was silly for believing. She knew it was because on some level, she scared them; she was looking for things beyond the comfort of tradition, and for that they feared her. So, when they couldn't make her stop, they ignored her.

It was (_sososo_) hard, being alone.

Then there were the days that the rain brought her brutally back to earth. Luna would come crashing down, and be swamped by the pain she'd pushed away. She'd remember her mother's dull eyes, she'd feel the sting of the taunts, she'd taste the salt of the tears that she had never let herself cry. The tears she would _never_ cry.

Her mother had taught Luna to never let _anything_, or anyone, break her. She had said that harsh words and attacks meant that you were something they _weren't_, and they just couldn't accept that. Her mother had said that they couldn't hurt her if she didn't let them.

It was just hard to remember, some days.

On those days, she would sit in the rain for hours, absolutely _soaked_ to the bone, and _exist_. She fell, and rested on solid ground, gathering the strength to face the world again. There she would remain, until the tears stopped and her dreamy smile was fixed firmly back in place.

Nobody suspected a thing, typically enough, because it was just Loony Lovegood being her strange self.

Few knew the advantages of being mad, she supposed.

Of course, rain was not only the bitter-sweet comfort of the past to Luna, but the thrill of the future. The rain brought life, a new start. Rain was destruction; rain was creation. Rain was _incredible_.

Furthermore, Luna had it all to herself. Even with instant drying spells, the students of Hogwarts were as finicky as cats when it came to getting wet (unless it was for Quidditch, of course). As such, no one else would be _happy_ for a day of warm, heavy rain that would warm you on the inside, fill the air with it's sharp-yet-soft taste, and block out everything with a heavy blanket of mist. Luna supposed that they had probably never stopped to dance in it, either.

Silly people.

_This_ was magic, even in a world where magic was mundane.

Sometimes, the sheer lack of depth to the students of Hogwarts astounded Luna. She'd tried to help them all along, of course, but they had obstinately denied the fact that there might be something more to their own tiny little worlds. They'd never try for _more_, to concerned with the views of others to really try something _new_.

Their loss, she guessed.


End file.
